The Forgotten Map (5 page)

‘Who's the mad-rat steering this boat?' he spluttered. ‘I just spilt a mug of Apple Fizz all over myself.'

‘Good,' Ruby snorted. ‘You shouldn't be drinking that sugary poison this early in the morning. Give Whisker a hand before the wind rolls us over.'

Horace didn't argue. He grabbed a rope and, together with Whisker, tilted the mainsail into position. They repeated the process with the foresail and Ruby adjusted the wheel.

Soon they were sailing as close as they could into the wind. The square shape of the sails meant the angle was quite large and they would have to follow a wide zigzag course to reach their destination. Whisker knew the cloud would either move or disappear before they even got close to it.

‘Prepare to come around,' Ruby ordered, swinging the wheel in the opposite direction.

The boat turned to its port side and for a moment they were facing directly into the wind. The sails lost their shape and began to flap awkwardly. As the boat continued turning, Whisker and Horace pulled at the ropes, and the sails sprang back to life. In no time, the boat was racing along on the second leg of the course.

As Whisker predicted, the cloud soon vanished. They had completed six or seven legs of the journey and by that stage Ruby was satisfied with Whisker's performance.

‘You could have been quicker during the turns,' she pointed out.

Horace raised his hook in the air and groaned. ‘Give us a break, Ruby. We were one paw down.'

‘We still have to sail back,' Ruby said. ‘Do you think you can handle it?'

‘Of course,' Whisker replied, ‘it's downwind from here.'

‘Don't be reckless,' Ruby warned, looking more at Horace than at Whisker. ‘Pull the sails in a bit if you have to. I don't want too much speed. If you break the pie off the Mer-Mouse, you're dead!'

As Ruby swung the boat around, Whisker turned to Horace, perplexed.

‘What in the salty sea did she mean by that?'

‘Haven't you seen her?' Horace asked.

‘Seen who?' Whisker said in confusion

‘The golden lady of the ship, of course,' Horace exclaimed.

‘What … golden lady?'

‘Get these ropes sorted, and I'll introduce you to her.'

Whisker lay on his stomach at the bow of the boat and peered over the side. The ship sliced through the water with ease, but the occasional wave sent a shower of spray in his direction.

‘She's beautiful,' he said, wiping the water from his eyes.

Horace smiled. ‘She's the spirit of the vessel.'

They both stared down at the golden figurehead adorning the front of the boat. She had the head and arms of a mouse and the tail of a fish. Two golden shells covered her chest and in her paws she clutched a golden pie. To Whisker, she was a gleaming goddess in a sea of sparkling sunshine.

‘This is our Mer-Mouse,' Horace said with pride. ‘She's a mythical creature that roams the ocean in search of handsome young sailors and well cooked pies. She's actually a rat, but no one liked the name
Mer-rat.'

‘Where did you find her?' Whisker asked.

‘She was cast out of solid gold when the ship was built,' Horace replied.

Whisker stared dreamily at the Mer-Mouse
.
There was something vaguely familiar about her face.

‘I think I've seen her before,' he confessed.

Horace's eyes darted from side to side.

‘Shh,' he whispered. ‘I'm not supposed to know this, but yes, she was made to look like someone.'

‘Who?' Whisker gasped.

‘You'll guess it sooner or later,' Horace replied, ‘so I may as well tell you: Imagine the Mer-Mouse was wearing a crimson eye patch …'

‘GET UP HERE AT ONCE!' cried the angry voice of Ruby.

Whisker and Horace jumped to their feet and pretended to adjust the giant underpants sail.

‘Get your paws off those knickers and fix that sail!' she yelled, pointing to the foresail.

One of the connecting ropes had loosened and the sail was flapping to one side. The long red pencil supporting the sail jolted back and forth in the wind.

‘Oops,' Horace gulped, ‘I might need to brush up on my knots.'

The two rats dropped to their knees and began fumbling with the rope. Ruby wasn't finished.

‘Since when did I give you permission to slacken off?' she hollered. ‘As soon as I'm not looking, you're smooching up to Horace's golden girlfriend.'

‘She's not my girlfriend,' Horace spluttered, ‘she's …'

‘Both of you are on night watch,' Ruby cut in.

‘Rotten pies to that!' Horace protested. ‘You're not the judge and jury on this boat.'

‘BUT
I
AM,' came the unmistakeable screech of Pete hobbling up the stairs. ‘From what I can see, Ruby has every right to punish you for your behaviour.
A lazy Pie Rat is a dead Pie Rat
, remember?'

Whisker's tail drooped limply onto the deck. Neither he nor Horace had a comeback.

‘You are both on watch tonight,' Pete instructed. ‘And I mean all night. If I catch either of you sleeping, you will do it again tomorrow night –' He glared at Whisker, ‘following your gruelling sword fight.'

Later that evening, two rats hung off the rigging of the
Apple Pie
. Both rats wished their ship had a comfortable crow's-nest and not a mythical Mer-Mouse.

‘What's the time, Whisker?' Horace asked.

‘I don't know,' Whisker replied sulkily. ‘You've already asked me six times. Why don't you ask the Captain? He's the only one with a clock.'

‘I can't,' Horace said. ‘He's asleep.'

‘Everyone's asleep,' Whisker groaned in frustration. ‘The whole world is asleep.'

‘Bats are awake,' Horace said.

‘Well, where are they?' Whisker snapped. ‘They're not out here. There's nothing out here.'

‘Easy does it, Whisker,' Horace said defensively. ‘Is there something you want to talk about?'

‘Talk about?' Whisker spluttered. ‘We've been talking for the past nine hours. I don't want to talk. I want to sleep.'

Horace counted on his fingers ‘… Seven, eight, nine …So it must be three o'clock then. We've been up here since six …'

Whisker moaned. His eyes were heavy and his paws were sore from clutching the ratlines that ran up the mast.

He tried to stay awake by watching the light of the crescent moon filtering through the gathering fog. Every now and then, the patches of mist would drift apart and the moonlight would dance on the rippled surface of the ocean.

The air grew colder as dawn approached and Horace began to snore. With his hook twisted around the rope ladder, he was in no immediate danger of falling off. Whisker was about to wake him regardless, just in case Pete was on the prowl, when a distant flash caught his eye.

He rubbed his tired eyes and looked again. Something shone in the moonlight. It wasn't the white cap of a wave. It was something much bigger. Silently, Whisker stretched out his paw and plucked a small telescope from Horace's belt. Horace continued to snore.

Whisker slowly extended the telescope and held it to his eye. The mist blocked his vision at first, but when it cleared, he was in no doubt of what he was looking at – another ship.

It was larger and longer than the
Apple Pie.
Each of its three masts resembled upside-down broadswords. At the top of the mainmast lay a crow's-nest. It looked empty. A flag flew from the top of the foremast, though it was too dark for Whisker to make out the design.

The most amazing thing about this ghostly apparition was its colour: From the bottom of the hull to the top of the masts, the whole boat sparkled silver. Even the sails glistened in the pale moonlight.

Whisker had been ordered to keep watch, but no one had told him what to do if he saw anything. He assessed the situation. On its current course, the silver ship would disappear in a few minutes – earlier if the fog thickened. Whisker didn't need to be a pirate to know this wasn't a ship to attack. It was faster than the
Apple Pie
, carried more cannons and gave Whisker shivers down his tail.

Whisker shook Horace gently. He didn't want to frighten him, but he knew that Horace must see the ship for himself.

‘Leave me alone, Mama,' Horace mumbled, still half asleep. ‘It isn't morning yet.' He rolled his head to one side and continued snoring.

‘Pssst,' Whisker hissed, shaking him again. ‘Wake up, Horace. It's me, Whisker. You've got to wake up.'

This time Horace woke with a start.

‘I wasn't sleeping,' he spluttered. ‘You can't prove anything.'

‘Shh,' Whisker whispered. ‘They'll hear you.'

‘Who?' Horace yawned. ‘The Captain and Pete?'

‘No,' Whisker said, handing him the telescope. ‘Them.'

Horace raised the telescope to his eye and peered through.

‘Do you know who they are?' Whisker asked anxiously.

Horace didn't reply. The telescope shook in his paw. The silver ship disappeared into a patch of fog and Horace finally lowered the telescope. He looked petrified.

‘Was it a pirate ship?' Whisker gasped. ‘Should we tell the Captain?'

Horace nodded, still not speaking.

Anxiously, Whisker began to climb down. He was two rungs from the bottom when Horace grabbed his arm.

‘The
Silver Sardine
,' he croaked. ‘Tell him you saw the
Silver Sardine
.'

Whisker stopped. ‘You know who they are?'

‘Yes,' Horace quivered, holding up his hook. ‘They're responsible for this.'

The Captain stood on the deck with Whisker and Horace. It was still dark. The moon had disappeared and the fog had closed in around them. Whisker told the Captain everything he'd seen, minus the detail about Horace falling asleep. The Captain listened carefully, saying nothing.

When Whisker had finished, the Captain spoke. ‘Under the circumstances, I believe you made the right decision. If you'd raised the alarm, we would all be dead right now.'

Whisker felt his tail drop to the deck.

‘Were they cats?' he gasped.

‘They're not just cats,' Horace exclaimed, ‘they're the Cat Fish pirates; the most deadly crew on the sea. Their ship, the
Silver Sardine,
is made from hundreds of sardine tins. It's unsinkable. Their cannons shoot flaming fur-balls, and one direct hit would incinerate our ship in moments.'

The Captain adjusted his eye patch and added, ‘No one has laid eyes on them for several years, but it seems they've been lured out of hiding …'

‘But where are they are headed?' Whisker asked in growing terror.

‘The Crescent Sea,' the Captain said. ‘They must have passed through the Cyclone Sea a few days behind us. It's fortunate our paths have crossed on a dark and misty night, and not on a clear and sunny day.'

This information should have relieved Whisker, but instead he felt an icy chill run down his tail.